Rules of Survival
by Blouper
Summary: Razor, Miss Briggs, a cave-in, and survival: sometimes enough is not really enough. Mature Razor/Callie, mentions of others.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Rules for Survival

**Summary:** Razor, Miss Briggs, a cave-in, and survivalism: sometimes enough is not really enough. [Mature Razor/Callie, mentions of others]

**A/N:** A few things—this is going to be labeled M later. I am letting it sit as PG13 so it doesn't get masked away by the filters. Second, this story is actually finished, so it will update consistently, and be, well, finished. Third, it is unbetaed. If you do see a mistake, or something of the like, I would love to hear it. Fourth, this is actually a long PWP (as in, porny, sexual innuedoes, the whole nine yards without any actual yards), that I needed to write after I saw The Pastmaster's Bride again this summer. Also, this is really just a long one-shot I was forced to cut down otherwise it would be a monster to read. It is still a monster to read.

Well, if you're still with me:

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**Rule number one: Do not panic.**

It isn't very far the topic of Dr. Viper could hold, and after thirty minutes of walking, and small conversation rotating around the mad scientist, Razor and the deputy major Briggs arrive at a shaky, if not deeply flawed conclusion. And an embankment of weird shaking carnivorous flowers, but Razor isn't nearly as worried about those as he is about Dr. Viper.

The lizard-kat is trying to remake the world into a swamp. They're pretty sure about that, or so they like to believe, but under certain circumstances like these, belief is a rather tricky plaything.

This time Dr. Viper is achieving his conquers in small and slow steps. First, by taking the abandoned underground train system, and then the sewer adjoining it, and slowly the plants will evolve into a more complex organism with their own movement, and consciousness, gradually and inconspicuously taking over the city from below the ground to the very sky they used to fly in!

Razor makes a crack about his science-fiction dreams finally coming to life, but the deputy mayor does not find it, or him, amusing.

He doesn't really blame her, it would be hard to do so when one of the actual creatures stands in front of them, sap (or at least he thinks it's sap) dripping out of its strangely shaped mouth, as its arm-like vines lash violently towards them.

Callie moves out of the way before he has a chance to even point his 'handy' weapon at it, which surprised him more than the actual creature in front of them. It distracts him long enough said monster nearly snaps his neck.

Despite this, the creature is not hard to defeat, though it did get a good bite out of his leg before he blasted it with his glovatrix and it showered down on a frightened Callie. The gunk wasn't as sickening as the time he was covered in bug mucus he figures, though Callie did retch behind some of the fallen wall debris, and he regained feeling on his leg after a few hours.

The brunt of the damage was received by his helmet when the plant attached itself in an attempt to crush his head. Razor could always rebuild another, that wasn't the problem; the problem manifested in the more intricate aspect of the helmet, and it sudden uselessness.

He doesn't even have any of his more advanced tools with him, not even a soldering iron to work on the loose wiring, so any work done will be, at best, primitive and most likely not to operate properly.

Razors sighs turning the helmet in his hands, granted, it wasn't the most technologically advanced object he had ever created but it contained a tracer T-bone could of have used to localize them. Now it is decommissioned, like his glovatrix, and like his injured leg, but those were only temporary. His helmet on the other hand, he isn't sure his helmet will bear the same fate.

He turns to report the damage to the deputy, but he finds she is distracted by the wild vegetation above them. He looks up too, amazed, if not a bit irritated at how quickly the plants had reorganized themselves and closed off the hole in which they came through.

He's also annoyed they were forced to move away from said point, but had figured the tracer had them at an advantage, and staying around to fight off so many of Viper's monsters was an expenditure of resources they couldn't afford to make at the time.

But, Razor knows the mistake was his overconfidence and dependence on his tracer, now it could very well cost them their lives. Staring at the greenery above him, Razor vows to make things right and find a way to escape their self-imposed prison. Somehow.

When he tucks the helmet under his arm, deciding to tell her about his plan, he notices she's distracted by something above them. He limps closer to her, curious to see what exactly was holding her attention. He looks up to find it's nothing.

Callie turns to him frowning a little, "You know, Razor, we really gotta stop meeting this way."

Razor looks down at her hand. Agrees, and belatedly apologizes.

------

After his leg regains feeling, but no strength to speak of, Callie helps him crawl into a crevice, and there they spend the first night together. Cramped, covered in smelly flower sap, exhausted, and a bit hungry. And a nice blend of horror and mortification, though that was mostly him when he babbled incoherently at her tired teasing retorts. This is T-bone's area of expertise anyway.

He volunteers first watch, figuring he may as well use his left-over adrenaline (embarrassment) for _something_ good. What he wasn't counting on was that his leg wound would burn so damned much, despite the care, he'd be hunched over gripping his legs until tears rolled down his cheeks and barf splatter on the corner of his jumpsuit.

Or that after wiping away his face and he could control his breath again and felt like a punching bag would after a round against Chance, waking the deputy would be damn-near impossible.

Callie rolled into him when he tried to shake her awake, and he nearly lost an eye avoiding her flailing elbow. Razor spends his shift -- and hers too since she refuses to even move when he shakes her again-- trying to ignore the deputy. Easier said than done.

Callie's hands kept seeking for him despite their earlier attempt to strangle him; she also tends to purr rather loudly. It's almost endearing. Almost. He swore he lost his left hand when he was gullible enough to let her grab unto it. He doesn't pull it back.

Mostly, though, mostly he thinks of how absurd her resemblance to Callista is. Blond hair, fair fur complexion, same stubborn resilience, the hopefulness of her smiles, her need to be in constant contact with others.

Her hands.

Razor's suddenly struck, and a little bit troubled, by how much he misses the queen. So he wretches his hand away from Callie. Flexes it slowly. Open, close.

In the dark, he can't see her face, in the dark he can't get rid of the feel and weight of her hand. In the dark, Callie is suddenly Callista.

Razor stares off into the dark. It's a long shift.

--

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AN: Reviews and criticisms are all welcomed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Rules for Survival

**Summary:** Razor, Miss Briggs, a cave-in, and survivalism: sometimes enough is not really enough. [Mature Razor/Callie, mentions of others]

**Standard Disclaimers**: I own nothing. Sadly.

**

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Rule number two: Assess the situation.**

--

The deputy mayor is unusually quiet and shaken-up the next morning, which is quite the opposite of him, since he's operating much like a zombie would. Or, rather not at all. She isn't too happy about that.

He frowns tiredly. It's the number one rule of survival: do not panic. He thought she was past it but apparently it had been shock and adrenaline working for her-- both had worn off. He works on rule number two of survival: assess the situation and your resources.

Razor has found that as a whole, neither of them has much aside from basic tools in his pack, a parachute, her briefcase full of 'confidential' documents and three granola bars she kept in her briefcase for snacks. So. Not much for the bare essential. He's more worried about the lack of water than the food. They have three days to find water, at most they'll last a week without finding food. He's being generous, of course.

He's about to inform her about this, but a particularly nasty bout of curses erupting from her make him cringe. He swallows back his report. He is accustomed to hearing Chance muttering curses not a she-kat with as much grace as a newborn kitten he thinks disdainfully. He winces again, sulking back to the ground where it is firm and solid.

After a few minutes, Razor is suddenly aware how bad he is at offering comfort without inserting his foot into his mouth, or making a crass joke. Callie doesn't like jokes in tense, perilous situations, he found earlier, so he keeps them, and himself, away from her for the time hoping her frustrations will defer soon enough.

This, too, is a mistake. Once in a while, to his embarrassment, he catches himself with his face plastered to the metal walls, and drool running down the corner of his mouth. It bothers him.

Razor's supposed to be on the look-out, always aware of his surroundings, a _vigilante_. Not falling asleep every five minutes because he pulled an all-nighter and rescued them from another barrage of psycho-plants. He's had worse encounters, has traveled through dimensions, seen the good and the bad of society in these runs, has seen what would happen if T-bone and he were killed in battle. Razor has a tough disposition. But right now, underneath his beloved city, with no company outside of the mayor deputy and plants pulsing with venom, he isn't sure about anything anymore. Except that up above them T-bone is probably driving Feral crazy trying to rescue them.

The thought alone gives him vigor as he sets back to work. He squints at his tool selection but honestly, he's now just simply fighting the urge to rub his eyes and stretch his stiff back for a second. Belatedly he realizes he can't hear the methodological clink of Callie's shoes, or the curses she had been whispering to the wall, or that he can't see her anymore.

His heart leaps to his throat, hi stomach lurches, and for a moment Razor wonders what he would tell everyone if he ever got out of this hell. 'She was eaten while I agonized over what a crappy hero I am. I'll be right back I think I'm going to agonize some more'.

He scrambles to his feet, jerking his body tightly around circles, fearing the worst. He nearly sighs when he finds she was merely pacing behind him—her shoes are off. Callie stops walking noticing his confused stare but makes no move to join him; he feels silly standing in front of her and not uttering a word, but it quickly dissipates to annoyance as Callie sends him a sour look when he doesn't immediately say anything. He decides to lets her stew by herself a while longer and sits back down, the painful rapid thump in his chest subsiding slightly.

It's not one of his better days, and he's sure the deputy wasn't exactly planning on spending her day underground with a Kat playing hero. There are, however, more important things to focus on. Like outside communication. Or not letting his imagination get the better of him. Razor lifts his helmet and stares at it dumbly for a few seconds unsure of how to proceed.

He lowers it a bit, deciding that, alright, it was sort of his fault they're stuck in the mess they're in, but it was either being trapped, or being dead. He likes the prospect of still breathing despite what the newspapers say about air pollutants, contamination, and possible toxins thank-you-very-much.

Razor takes a deep breath to illustrate said point, coughs a little as the air underground is musty and thick, and not very breathable to begin with, and slowly twists the helmet between his fingers, desperately hoping to find the problem if he were to look at it from a different angle. No such luck and still no Callie. His pride must of have left with them both too.

He drops the helmet by his side, moving on to the tools inside his belt and arranging them to work with. He examines them carefully, looks over his shoulder. Callie has stopped pacing once again, but anger is still very apparent on her face.

It annoys him for some unreasonable reason.

Razor snatches the helmet back up proud he does not roll his eyes at her, or apologizes for a simple mistake. What are they supposed to say to each other, anyway? Hey, nice weather we're having, too bad about the Dr. Viper-trying-to-destroy-Megakat-city-again-thing, and being stuck underground while the city is ravaged. At least we have our health. Dr. Viper can't say the same, you know.

Not that they could see the weather, or anything else outside of concrete, endless lines of tubes, wiring, the flickering of the underground lights, and once in a while, the growling mess of carnivorous plants Dr. Viper liked to call _children_.

It's not like he wanted to rescue her by dragging them both into a hole that lead to nowhere. Or be thinking of Dr. Viper and what could be his ailing health.

Razor frowns, rubs his temple; he's starting to annoy himself too. So Callie isn't too thrilled in their current living situation and honestly neither is he. Shit happens. He at least mopes constructively. Razor continues to keep his distance just in case she snaps and tries to slug him for his mistake though. The nice-- mostly nice-- old lady Chance and he give free tune-ups nearly weekly has taught him that, sometimes, being out of arms reach is the best place to be. Oh, and Chance's disastrous one-nighters. And his mother.

Though he wouldn't admit that to anyone but himself.

Hours later, at least he thinks, he's not too aware of time now-- maybe it was just a few minutes-- after apparently having sulked off the bad mood, Callie makes her way to his side. Doesn't say anything immediately, but he doesn't really need to look at her to know she's still tethering between amiability and resentment, and keeps a healthy distance between them. _You get what you give_.

"What are you doing?" she finally asks, settling on being courteous. She runs her hand over the pathetic selection of tools he has in front of him, as if counting them. Three. He only has three here. For some reason, he feels kind of self-conscious about it, as if he should explain and apologize for them. He lost most of his tools when he was trying to kick off a mutant sunflower off his leg.

"Fixing the communicator inside my helmet," he says carefully as he picks the screwdriver furthest from her hand. It's the wrong size. He twists it between his fingers aware of her green eyes burning holes through his skull.

"I don't have the equipment to get it working though." He adds, just in case she starts getting hopeful and he has to crush it. He doesn't want to think he could do that.

She finally sits down next to him tucking her legs underneath her. "What should we do?"

He could say a million things, something reassuring, or words with inspiration or he could snap at her as if she was a soldier, or lie and tell her he's still assessing the situation. Instead, he resorts to the old, the tried; the words that would be the closest to resentment he could get to right now, "Maybe you can _not_ throw things at me while we're being attacked?"

She brittles, it's satisfying in a way, "It was dark; I thought you were one of Dr. Viper's monsters."

He grins at her feeling a bit better now that she's speaking to him even if it is guarded and he's requesting stupid inane things.

Still, "Flattery will get you nowhere Miss Briggs."

She has the decency to blush. Razor catches the corner of her lips twitching a little. That helps too.

-----

Somehow their conversation turned from idle comments about tax-raises, to Mayor Manx's incompetency, to T-bone and his piloting skills. When Callie questions his training, Razor's knee-jerk reaction is to boast of his friends' ability, "He's better than just _good_, he's amazing! The best." In retrospect, he really shouldn't have flailed his arms around so much.

Callie gives him a strangely smug smile, like she figured something out that no one else had, like she had caught the proverbial skittish mouse between her hands. It puts him on edge, "You're awfully nice,"

"He's my best friend." Razor mumbles pretending to be inspecting his helmet one more time; a few more feet to climb and they will be able to give it a whirl.

Callie matches pace with him, though she isn't as eager as he is to leave their safe abode to try out the communicator, but it at least means her angry-panicky whatever it was she was doing before has subsided and that's good news to him, if any.

"I didn't know you two were…that close,"

Razor grits his teeth making sure his feet still carry him forward; he hates being needled by the deputy mayor, figures it must be a daily routine for her. She is pretending to be an assistant while secretly running an entire city. Her implications are twofold, though. If he says 'no' he's a liar. If he says 'yes' he's T-bone's extra-special-with-a cherry-on-top-friend. Or bottom.

"He's the brother I never had." Razor states mildly. No implications, no lies, no messy ambiguity. It's bad enough he is her mechanic hiding behind a bandana. He didn't want to be the latest news on a trashy magazine too, entertaining as they sometimes were.

Callie, at least, gives him a forced smile, opens her mouth and closes it with resolution perhaps sensing his terse change in mood, and finally deciding to look into the dim lights surrounding them. Mentally he breathes a sigh of relief.

They trudge-on in silence, though now it is accentuated by a heavy air. There is something not said that needed to be said and it festers between them.

He's not sure what it is and doesn't bother trying to figure out what exactly it is. He's a mechanic. He knows about metal parts, and how they operate together and without each other, knows when there is a flaw in a part that needs replacement, and when too much is simply too much.

Razor can't begin to fathom what to do with another living breathing individual that is not Chance. Car parts were consistent. Chance was consistent. Even Lt. Feral was consistent. Kats as a whole? Well they were an oblique mess he'd rather not deal with. He supposes that's why he's ignoring her, and she's returning the favor.

Together they spend another few minutes, or an hour he has no sense of time which sort of worries him a bit, walking through the mud in silence before Callie breaks it, "Sorry."

Razor nearly trips, tries to stop walking, falters and continues on realizing he's an idiot to even try. He tries to play it cool.

"For what Miss Briggs?"

The blond shrugs gawkily, "My comment, it was…inappropriate and personal. I'm sorry."

It was. Razor agrees. Somehow he feels inadequate by the apology. He stares at her paler than usual complexion hoping to detect a lie. Then, for a second, wonders if she's fairing as well as she is letting on.

"It's alright Miss Briggs." He says slowly, hoping she catches the double meaning though he knows she probably won't and he's only doing it to ease his own guilt anyway, so that's not much of a reassurance, or acceptance of an apology.

There is a long silence in which he feels like an asshole while Callie bites her lip uncomfortably. He gazes at the movement, remembers a beat later to train his eyes back on her face when she speaks again.

"Actually, Annie, er Ann Gora, you know? The reporter? Well she and I had a little tiff, or er-a bet about the subject. She said you two were…unusually close. I, um, I disagreed."

Razor's skin crawls, her tone and body language tells him she's lying to save face, it's the politician in her. T-bone would have been outraged, and he should be too, but there was a time when he was an enforcer and the same subject was brought up behind closed doors, and whispered taunts. He is -fortunately, unfortunately? He isn't too sure anymore- well accustomed to these kinds of rumors.

Curtly he replies, ducking under a fallen metal pillar, "You win the bet, Miss Briggs."

She laughs a hollow laugh and follows him without any other comment. The silence between them grows thicker. And Razor realizes why. T-bone would be good in this sort of situation, and he'd be excellent at diffusing this one. A silly joke maybe: 'I'm Kat enough for him AND you Callie'.

Or something better. That's just pathetic.

Razor isn't built for this. Comfort, leadership, _gossip_. He glances behind his shoulder, finds her struggling to get over the hurdle he crossed easily, decides to continue onward hating himself a little for it.

Razor feels like a teenager again, and it is a rather unpleasant place to be. He tends to be vindictive when he is there. And, he thinks ruefully, he may be used to the trite comments—didn't mean he had to like them. He's well aware he keeps contradicting himself, but makes no qualms to change the fact. Callie follows dutifully, a few steps behind him.

------

The test for the helmet failed, he feels like a buffoon speaking into a dead communicator with her hopeful eyes trained on him. It is then that Razor realizes why anyone would think he was in love with T-bone. Not many guys call their friends "buddy" so many times without someone at least raising an eyebrow.

He lets her off the hook, but doesn't think she realized how annoyed he was. So they sit around quietly making a fire for the time being; they have two more days to scour for water and have her mid-morning snack for 'dinner'. It could be mid-morning for all they knew.

Hearing just the fire crackle for a while, Callie clears her throat, and with a conspirational smile plastered on her face, leans towards him trying to make amends once again in her own way, "You know, Annie will be excited to hear about this. She has a major crush on T-bone."

His shoulders relax as he returns her smile.

------

It is her piercing scream that wakes him up, and instantly he rolls to his stomach weapon poised towards her. Sheepishly, even though she had a weapon pointed at her face, Callie waves at him innocently, he lowers the glovatrix remembering it was empty and that he was about to reload it before he fell asleep. Dr. Viper's 'children' have been doing a good job on keeping them on their toes so far.

"Everything is fine." She whispers, he sort of crawls, sort of walks towards her, frowning, expecting an attack anyways, "What happened?" He doesn't know why he whispers too seeing as there was nothing wrong, but she doesn't seem to care, or notice. Either or.

"My pant got snagged on the-I thought it was- it's, it's nothing."

She lets out a shaky breath, and he does too. He closes his eye for a second, and then opens them to find her staring at him worriedly. Without much finesse he clears his throat, "Is your turn over?" he shifts uncomfortably between his feet.

"I don't know. Maybe."

"I'll take over; I'm wide awake anyways." He grabs his right hand, "Maybe I can fix a good round of weaponry into my glovatrix this time."

Callie smiles, nods, and sits down brandishing more documents out of the briefcase they both nearly died rescuing earlier in the day.

"I'll stay up a while longer, I'm not really tired." Razor takes that as his cue and moves to dismantle the walls of their make-shift shelter, hoping to find some raw pieces to work with. He pretends that it is like the salvage yard back home, free range of material just waiting to be molded. It's a very comforting thought.

Waking up to realize he fell asleep with his face against a cold steel wall, on the other hand, is not. His neck aches for the rest of the day, and Callie teases him mercilessly for the giant mark embedded into his cheek.

"So, my hero isn't perfect after all."

Razor rubs his cheek muttering. She has no idea, but Razor feels infinitely better hearing her say it.

------

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**A/N: So this is really late. The USB drive in which the entirety of this story was all stored was (among other things), to put it bluntly, stolen. I didn't really have the patience to rewrite everything when it happened. I can only apologize for the tardiness, although you'll have to be patient with me. It takes a while for my inspiration to come, and I don't have access to the show like I once did. But most of all, I want to say thanks to anyone that is still reading this! **


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I suck at updating. Better late than never, right? Thank you Ulyferal for the correction of the embarrassing mistakes I made, and all the encouragement! Also this is omnipotent POV. I just wanted the story to be told from Razor's point of view only.

Standard Disclaimers apply

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**Rule number three: Find water**

Sometimes he forgets that when he and T-Bone aren't rescuing her from disaster, Ms. Briggs is a resourceful and powerful person, and is reminded when she points at the long lines of tubes above them.

"I think there's a water line in there."

When he asks her why she didn't inform him earlier, the deputy says she didn't believe she'd need to. He nods accepting the blue prints of the underground network she had been secretly carrying, feeling stung despite her confident comment.

Together, they sit and figure out the complicated lines of the blue prints, and hatch a plan to not destroy their poor excuse of a harbor, or drown in the water, (or whatever else resides in those pipes), they're trying to use to survive.

They achieve their goal, rather clumsily since he only has one grappler and she isn't the most physically fit person he's ever met.

Shyly, she asks if she can have a little extra for them both. They've been underground for days, and he agrees about feeling like a walking stiff board.

When she starts to take off her flimsy jacket, he makes sure to walk as far away as he could without endangering her and resolutely stares at the wall.

------

It had been quiet for far too long. He hears a loud crash, is on the ready before he even hears her curse. In a second, Razor is next to her quickly picking her out of the hole she tripped into. His gloved hand on the ready for any surprise attack. He holds the position for three seconds, until his arm starts protesting the stiff position, shaking slightly as he points at the emptiness they now lived in.

"What happened?" He asks, carefully surveying Callie. She's covered in mud, but unhurt. Just in case, he helps her crawl out of the pit to cover the tremble of his arm.

"It's these damn pants. They keep-" she grunts trying to lift her pant leg, "getting snagged on everything!"

She grabs at them blindingly, and rips them away from her body, the inseam splits traveling up her thigh. The tear loosens near her inner thigh. He is enthralled by it.

"Oh, for kat's sake." She plops to the ground attempting to fix them, just to fail dashingly. He blinks, and smiles a little.

"Don't worry, here, I'll help you."

Razor kneels to help her cut through her pant leg noticing the red seeping through, "My hero." She says dryly adjusting her weight into her arms; he gives her a lopsided smile, brandishing a shard of metal he had sharpened. He feels like a doctor for a second, but pushes that alter ego in the back of his mind, instead grabs her leg and brings it closer to him.

Slowly he rolls the cuff of her pants upwards afraid of hurting her, but mostly searching for the wound the blood was coming from. It's a small scratch. He runs his thumb over it gently to make sure it's not deeper and a trick of the poor lighting. Tentatively he pops his finger into his mouth, and when he accidentally looks up, catches Callie's gaze. The air between them shifts.

"I live to please Ms. Briggs."

The words are out of his mouth before he realizes it. Embarrassed, he focuses on her leg and not the wriggling she does to get comfortable, or the shake of his hands.

He is sure to make his moves calculated; slow, precise, meticulous is his middle name. He feels the tension on his shoulder ebb as he finds his center once more. But despite his caution, getting rid of the filthy material covering her legs is… unexpectedly provocative.

Razor chances a quick look towards her face, nearly flinching as he feels his skin crawl hotly, not sure what he expects to find there. Instead of admonition, he notices her glazed eyes, her slightly parted lips, his eyes stray towards her chest, enthralled by the erratic up and down motion it makes. Clumsily he moves to her other leg.

She shifts too; he can feel muscle tense and move underneath his hand. Abruptly, sensing his self-control starting to slip, he yanks his hand away.

The sudden move startles Callie, and she spins as if about to be attacked, grabs him for protection; he rocks backward righting himself before they both tumbled over. Several edged seconds pass. Neither detecting immediate danger, Callie eases her grip on his arm, but doesn't move away from him. Her breath is too close to his ear. His heart jumps and lodges itself in his throat. His mouth is dry and tries to concentrate on regulating his own breathing.

"Sorry," she says, but her response is too close to him, strained. Like Callista used to do when he made a joke, or when she made a comment that resembled hero-worship he never knew he always wanted.

"Dr. Viper has me more on edge than I thought." She says dropping her right hand, but leaving her left on his forearm. Razor searches his brain for something reassuring, but everything that crosses his mind seems inappropriate.

Razor tries to think of Chance's one-liners, but they seem even more obscene. Decides to fall on familiar ground: a command, "Let's keep moving, Ms. Briggs, we gotta find food."

She obliges, her hand still resting on his arm, the weight of it burns through the fabric of his uniform. And really? How worse can it get when all he can focus on is her hand and her intake of breath so close to him and the flash of leg every time she takes a step.

------

He finds that they aren't good together, or rather, he is not good with her. Bless her efforts, at least she was trying. Her meek efforts were starting to wane, though, and her energy drain. He doesn't know what to do outside his survival training. He is working on instinct, she on exhaustion, and their shaky partnership is starting to crumble.

The attacks from the wildlife and plant life had increased to the point they weren't keeping up, and barely making it with most their bearings. The increase forces them to be constantly on the move. Therefore, he keeps their pace quick, their rest-stops short, and when what they believe is night settles, he keeps to himself and his broken communicator, unsure of what else to do.

Setting up traps has proven futile.

Callie curls into herself, fear, and hunger. She finished her paper work the day before; she doesn't have anything else except him to distract her from the situation they are in, and he's a poor excuse for a distraction.

By the seven night, guilt overrides his need to avoid her. Razor sits down next to her and waits until she turns to face him before he speak, "We'll get out of this soon, Ms. Briggs, T-Bone won't let us down."

Callie gives him a strange smile, nods, and goes back to rest.

The next day, she is talkative, and even though their rations are beyond meager, she doesn't complain, and when he shows her his gadgets he notices she isn't faking interest like T-Bone does, and she is starting to understand how it works.

When she starts laughing at his poor attempts at jokes, the entire situation becomes much more tolerable. She is open, more receptive when he is too. The problem is that she likes making physical contact, his real personality, the one hiding behind a filthy mask, screams to shake her off, and just get out of the damned situation.

In this case, he has no such luck, and retreating into his own shell will only hurt the tentative easiness they have established. Still, he makes an effort to stop pushing her away, and honestly laughs when she tells him of an anecdote involving the mayor, a golf club, and trains.

"You can call me Callie, you know." She says when he sobers up. It's the first time he really noticed her brilliant smile.

------

"I sound silly," she does, Razor can attest that, but it's been four days since he reassured her and simple and basic non-threatening topics have been covered. Personal subjects started to come up, more and more often in conversation. It had been inevitable. Except he can never respond truthfully, and neither of them believes he would anyways. There are things she won't ask, and things he glosses over when a lie seemed inappropriate.

_Do you like being a vigilante? Have you ever regretted it? _

Most times. Maybe.

Right now, they're sitting around an impromptu fire, she goes back to working on her papers, and he on his mangled helmet, she already explained her work, and he already tried showing her the intricacies of the helmet, but they're geeks in their own rights, and lose each other rather quickly in their explanations. They make an effort, and in the end support is all they're looking for, anyway.

"I do like someone," she continues, extending one of the fruits they found growing near them; he's already ate one to see if they were poisonous. He's still alive, so he takes the fruit and bites into it eagerly. "He's a genius, a mechanic genius, does good work on my car."

Her smile turns slightly wicked, and to his dismay Razor's can hear the double entendre in a way that leaves his heart hammering wildly in his chest. His eyes stray to her uncovered legs, (she cut off the other leg pant herself), the way they glow against the fire's light. Saying it was clandestine would be insulting.

"Oh?" He snaps his eyes back to Callie, his voice comes slightly strangled; his response more questioning than he intended it to. She laps the inquiring tone leaning into him, with a glint in her eyes that said she knew more than was willing to share with him.

"Yeah, he could probably help you with repairs on the TurboKat," her eagerness is charming and her naivety makes him finally relax and feel like a lying asshole at the same time. Razor doesn't wallow on the thought for long, instead decides to humor her. They've spent quite some time with each other, and she's earned that at the very least.

"He sounds great." It just weird to hear himself compliment, well, himself. He needs to stop ogling her too while he is at it. He's becoming worse than Chance.

"Oh, he is." He blinks owlishly at her and almost blushes. It is strange to hear it said sincerely, but her face betrays her when the strange glint comes back. He tilts his head away from her, tries to look over the stretching darkness and the lines and lines of wilderness, he can understand what it all implied, all of the sudden, and he doesn't want to. Not really. Not yet.

"But I am sure you don't need the extra help. You've proven yourself quite handy by yourself." Razor knows she's covering up for both of them, and he is grateful in a strange sort of way, even if it makes him feel self-conscious.

Callie shifts her legs, and the subject, pushing hair out of her eyes, "It must be hard to date while having a double identity," his shoulders stiffen and his response is defensive, "You tell me Ms. Briggs."

After all, her public persona is nothing like her personal one, and pretending they're not leading double lives is like pretending the sun didn't exist. And pretending they don't know is pretending they aren't being stalked by wild psychotic plants.

Her comment is placating though, "It is. I want to ask him out, the mechanic, but I know his answer already."

Razor flinches, accidentally stabbing himself with his screwdriver when he hears her words. He looks at her carefully; suddenly and oddly tense, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. _No_."

Razor is surprised, not for the first time, how uncannily perceptive Ms. Briggs tends to be.

------

"What about you?" Razor fidgets a little with his glove annoyed the subject somehow resurfaced again; he gives her a long suffering sigh. His answer is rather simple: Callista. Except, it isn't simple at all. There must be something inherently wrong with him, he sees the she-kat of the present in front of him, and instead thinks of the she-kat of a past he doesn't belong to. What can he tell the deputy?

Callie, I think you're a swell lady, in fact my other alter ego, your mechanic, is crazy about you, but I'm in love with your great, great, great, great, great, great, great, greatgreatgreat grandmother. Thanks though, it's nice to feel wanted.

Some days, being a vigilante was irritating, "Curiosity killed the Kat," he says trying to avoid the subject, avoid Callie really.

"But the Kat was satisfied." His lips twitched upwards despite himself.

Like now, for example.

If he were to take off his mask, he would be more receptive to her. Jake likes Callie, Jake is crazy about Callie, Jake would have had already attempted one of his awkward sexual advances on Callie.

With a mask on…well Razor is professional above all, and his heart was stolen by a queen centuries dead.

He frowns turning a screwdriver between his fingers. Callista married a prince whom helped improve the relations between other kingdoms around the area. She had seven children, five of which were boys, and of which only two survived birth. They were later killed in battle along with their father. Her daughters married, and the linage was lost somewhere with them. But the kingdom flourished, gained strength, and there was not a single sighting of The Pastmaker. It was a short period of peace, before the dark ages started easing into a more promising era.

Razor knows because he read her biography three nights after T-Bone and he came back through the dimensional portal, even though T-Bone warned him to not read it. Forget it. To not look at it.

T-Bone was right. It was a mistake.

"Well, there is someone," just like this one.

_The queen died alone, having outlived all of her immediate relatives. Folk legend says she spoke of a valiant kat-knight named 'Sir -Kazor', just as many claimed he was her long lost lover. Unfortunately, records regarding the matter are unclear. Unfortunately a wild fire destroyed the castle and its surroundings and no concrete proof to validate the myth has been found. _

He spent that night wide awake thinking of her, and how funny it was to see his 'not-name' in history books. But mostly, he spent the night thinking how much she sacrificed and how little she got to see of her beautiful kingdom.

"She's in the past now, though."

Callie nods sympathetically, offers a smile; they don't speak about it again.

He goes to bed, and keeps thinking of Callista, freedom, and choices he didn't make, and the ones he did.

It was a mistake anyways.

Come morning he'll focus on important things. On getting them out of the cave and nothing else.

* * *

A/N: Hi angst! So I totally think it said a lot that Razor had been willing to stay in the dark ages for Callista. I know I wouldn't have done it for a stranger and Razor is the more level headed of the two. So in my world I need for him to let her go before he can move on. Sorry if it's taking a while, I promise to get better!

Let me know how the chapter was, reviews are love!


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